A Sunset Over Diagonal
by Ezzle
Summary: This is a series of one-shots about George's life after Fred's death. I published this originally a few years ago, if you've read it previously I've changed it a little bit. Enjoy! and please review!
1. A Sunset Over Diagonal

AN: this is the first of three one shots that I have written about George's life after Fred's death and the war. This one is called A Sun set Over Diagonal.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own George or any other of the characters I write about in this fic. Nor do I own any of the places I write about.

George stood slumped on the cash desk of the shop, his elbows resting in a pile of fake wands that sat in a wicker basket, on the pine wood desk.

The shop was empty now; it was half past five after all.

George looked at his watch, one which now was surprisingly battered for someone who'd only had it three years. It read twenty-seven minutes past five.

Three minutes.

Three minutes till the end of the first day that he'd run the shop without him.

Three months since he'd lost him.

If George was to be incredibly precise, three months, two days, an hour, and thirty seven minutes.

The wizarding world was past the morning now; they had gotten over it with the help and strength of their family and friends. They were moving on. Everyone except George, the one person who he needed most right now was gone, gone for ever.

The late afternoon light shone in to the shop, lighting up the room. George blinked in the light. He had spent the past three months living like recluse upstairs, above the shop. Never opening. Fred had always said they would be the first shop to re-open after the war.

To be honest they were among the last.

Everyone had moved on now, from the morning and the funerals, on to rebuilding their lives bit by bit, rebuilding their families and their lives. But not George, he'd stayed in the same drunken rut for the past three months. Despite the owls and meals delivered by his mother and family, he'd refused to respond to anyone.

Not today though, he thought to himself.

He'd had very few customers today; he supposed no one knew the shop was open again.

Fred would have wanted some big re-opening ceremony that was Fred's thing, not George's. George preferred to do things quietly, calmly, especially now.

Two minutes.

Today he was going to open and shut exactly on time. They never used to open and shut on time before. They always used to open up late and keep the shop open far later than any other on diagonal alley.

Not today though.

One minute.

George rapped his fingers on the cash desk loudly. He had run the shop by himself today and hadn't bothered to tell any of his staff they were re- opening. To be honest he wasn't even sure if they still worked here, he had ignored all their owls and questions about when he was re-opening the shop. They'd have moved on, got other jobs in other shops.

He had to do things in his own time, in his own way, on his own.

Just for today anyway.

Five thirty.

George bent underneath the counter and retrieved his keys.

He stepped outside the shop.

It was a nice day today.

The sun was shining and he could feel the sun on his back as he turned to close the door.

He slid the keys in to the lock.

It was the first time he'd done this on his own; they'd always locked up together.

He turned the sign on the door and let out a deep breath.

He'd done it.

He turned to walk up the stairs and stopped.

Maybe he would go see Lee after all.

AN: that was my first one shot! It's a series of three about George's life after the war!

All reviews are appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	2. Alcoholic Hallucinations

AN: So this is second in a series of three one-shots that I'm writing about George's life after the war and dealing with Fred's death.

The first one is A sun set over Diagonal and this one's called Alcoholic Hallucinations.

Disclaimer: I don't George or any of the other characters you read about in this fic. Nor do I own any of the places.

George Weasley was sat slumped over a fire whisky in the Hogshead.

This was most certainly not unusual for him, not for the past three months anyway.

Fred had always preferred the Three Broomsticks.

It has a better atmosphere, he used to say.

He couldn't drink there now.

Actually he didn't really care where he drunk to be honest.

Just as long as he did.

That's all he had now, alcohol.

Alcohol was his only friend.

At least that was what he thought.

It was the only reason he left his flat.

The only thing that made him feel better.

It was the only thing that made him sleep at night.

He was falling asleep now. Slumped over the bar. Teetering on the edge of the bar stool. In an alcohol induced slumber.

He was the only one in the bar at this hour and the bar tender was beginning to get grumpy.

Today had been a hard one, it had been Ginny's birthday and his mother had dragged him to the Burrow to be their.

It not been an enjoyable event, he'd sat in a corner with a bottle of fire whisky until Bill had confiscated it off him. He'd left at the first possible opportunity, right after she'd blown the candles out on her cake.

It was her seventeenth birthday.

He'd come straight to the Hogshead and not left. It was now half past twelve.

George lifted his head of the bar; he was beginning to feel woozy now and wanted to go back to his warm bed in his flat. No, he didn't want to go back to flat, nobody would be there.

No annoying Angelina to yell at him for drinking, no Fred to cheer him on and make him a hang over potion in morning. Angelina had been living with him and Fred before… before the final battle.

Shortly after, she packed her bags and left, George hadn't seen her since.

He flung his legs off the bar stool and ended up in a heap on the ground.

Groaning he pulled himself up, his limbs shaking and headed towards the door.

He saw from the corner of his eye the bartender shake his head.

He staggered outside in to the cold night air, great, he didn't really know where he was or to how get back. He was definitely too drunk to apparate and he didn't know anywhere near by where he could floo from and if he did floo he'd probably end up in someone else's home.

No, he'd have to walk. Back to London. From Scotland.

He continued to stumble along the road in darkness, occasionally tripping over in to a bush, he had always hated walking, especially when intoxicated.

He tried to follow the path but kept managed to veer off in to the darkness.

Suddenly he reached Hogsmede high street. The glow from the Three Broomsticks was overpowering in the darkness- the only place open at this time of night.

He staggered on, he was tired now, very tired and everything was spinning.

Suddenly the floor seemed like a very good place to rest. He collapsed on the ground half asleep.

Just as everything went dark, he heard a voice.

'George is that you?'

'George?'

It was Angelina. Standing over him, the light illuminated in a halo around her face. When did Angelina become an angel? George thought to himself.

'He's drunk Lina, leave him.' That was most definately Alicia.

'We can't leave him Alicia, look at him, he needs help.'

'Angwelinaaaa,' George shakily stood up, using Angelina to support him.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say what he needed to say (which was very difficult in his drunken state.)

All that came out instead was vomit.

All over Angelina's shoes.


	3. Apprehensive Tensions

AN: so this is the last one in the series.

I kept changing it so much and changing my mind about it.

This is the final draft.

I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, these aren't my places. They're pretty amazing though.

Today was Bill's thirtieth birthday.

Today was the exactly ninety eight days since he had last seen Fred.

Today was George's twentieth day sober.

He could distinctly remember their last family gathering- exactly twenty one days ago.

Well when he said remember… he couldn't really, he was quite happy actually to forget it.

He looked other at Bill, he was standing with Fleur, her bulging stomach was starting show now, a slightly bump on her long lean body.

He could see Ron and Hermione who stood happy together clutching each others hands.

He could see the large birthday cake sitting in the corner, iced to perfection, ready to be eaten.

He could see everyone else standing in the garden in early September sun. Knowing that everything would be all right, the worst was over now.

He wished he could believe that too.

But he couldn't bring himself to.

He couldn't bring himself to move on.

Not now, not ever.

What he once had was gone, what he needed he couldn't have.

Life was cruel.

And so was alcohol.

He could see a bottle of fire whisky sitting on the side cabinet in the kitchen. So tempting him already.

He turned his head.

That was just what he needed.

To get stuck in the same drunken rut he had been in the past three months. Sorry, the drunken rut he had been in exactly twenty days ago.

He could see them on the far side of the garden now. They were getting the cake out now.

He couldn't bear to be down there.

He couldn't bear to be up here.

He didn't know where he wanted to be.

He didn't know what he wanted at all.

'George.'

He could hear a voice behind him, light footsteps approaching.

He did know he didn't want company.

He turned round.

It was the person he least expected to see.

'Are you all right?' she asked, squinting slightly in the setting sun.

He didn't reply.

She smiled slightly and sat down.

'I managed to get the sick out off my shoes'

He smiled.

He knew what he wanted now.

It was right next to him.

And she didn't have sick on her feet anymore.

Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

An: Thanks for reading, please review, I'd really appreciate. I'm thinking about writing some longer stories. Message me if you have any ideas!


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